Who’s got two thumbs, glitter face paint, a potentially racist headdress and knows how to party right? This guy.
I recently wrapped up Pabst’s new party headdress. It’s emblazoned with various personal sigiles since its genesis lies entirely in narcism. Hence we’ve got the Tecata eagle atop the Pabst blue ribbon — here gold because color pallets trump all else — and a bicycle gear dead center — not pictured.
Turkey feathers wouldn’t do this party person justice — french prononciation, like the electro band — so I slapped on some sparkly fabric and peacock plumes. Respecognize.
With his headdress — replete with bells — in place it was time to take Pabst out for the first round of filming on our next video. Destination: Hard French.
Hard French is an afternoon barbecue / soul dance party in the Mission. It’s just about the best time to be had on a Saturday before dark and folks there dress like it’s halloween every day. Shout out to my dog Cory — not an actual dog — for taking a break from his revelry to help out with the shooting.
The crowd seemed pretty into him as we were continuously swarmed by camera phones. We even popped up on Instragram a couple of times, albeit with the hashtag #fisting. The only downer was the series of preternaturally disgruntled ladies who thought his headdress was racist, but after I explained to them that yes, I’d read Guns, Germs and Steel and no, the squishy pink puppet with purple hair was not — surprisingly enough — a xenophobic rabble rouser there to rain on their polysexual, ethnically-ambiguous parade nor make light of the plight of the Indigenous American Peoples, but was rather operating on a level above their perceived affront, a level called satire or maybe just style without borders. Any old way, we’ll be shooting more with Pabst as soon as I figure out how to get him to ride a fixed gear. Stay tuned.